


Starlog

by PhilipTmoreHuffman



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 23:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2486726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhilipTmoreHuffman/pseuds/PhilipTmoreHuffman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stardust takes some time off from the road, at a house that is both his and not his, filled with memories that are not his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Starlog

Starlog Chapter 1  
By PhilipTmoreHuffman

I don't remember this house. I don't remember much before the voice in the void told me I was needed. Goldust says the house is mine, and if I can't believe him, who can I believe? I certainly seem to own the keys. It's a big house, though not as big as the cosmos, and it's very fancy. As I bring my bags, including my half of the tag team titles, I'm greeted by a woman. She calls herself Eden, and says she's my wife. When she kisses me, it feels like she loves me, and like I might love her back. But she doesn't recognize my name. It's not that she acts like she hasn't heard of it, but she says it's not my name.

She calls me Cody.

Perhaps it's a nickname?

Either way, this feels like a home, if not necessarily mine. The walls are nice, with many pictures of a handsome man. Sometimes he has a moustache, sometimes not. The living room has a mantelpiece decorated with keepsakes. The first to catch my eye is a handkerchief, monogrammed with TD. Thomas Dolby? Was the handsome man blinded with science? Whoever the man is, his handkerchief has seen a lot of use. It's marked with the near-imperceptible stains of tears from long ago. It hasn't seen a lot of use in recent years, I can tell that. After I place the handkerchief where it was before, I notice a head, like you'd see on a mannequin. It's wearing a clear plastic mask. I-I remember! Though it's not this mask I remember, the one I remember is covered in crosses, and feathers! It's the CroWn Of a LiAr wHO tHInKs hIMseLf a KinG, The MaSK He USes to HIdE HiS CowARDly FACE! THE FACE OF THE DEVIL WHO MASQUERADED AS AN ANGEL, WHO THOUGHT NOTHING OF SHATTE-

I jolt out of whatever fugue the mask inspired to find my hands contorted around it, just tight enough to bend, but not enough to break, and my breath haggard and quick. Nobody seems to have seen. I take a breath, and put it back on the mannequin head.

As I compose myself, another object catches my eye. A picture frame tipped face down. Was this out of shame? Disgust? Remorse? The picture is of the handsome man from the other pictures, this time with a moustache. He's embracing another man, no less handsome, with a well-trimmed black beard and long hair. There's a bond between them, not just a tag team partnership, but... something deeper. I begin to cry, but I don't know why. The last thing I remember is collapsing into a chair, clutching the picture to my chest and sobbing until I couldn't stay conscious anymore. I slipped into a dream... or possibly a vision.

\--

I see the men in the picture, Cody and Damien. They're in a video rental shop somewhere in the Midwest, late at night. It's just about empty, and they prowl the aisles, shouting to each other over the stands.

"Honestly, Cody, how can I be expected to perform at my peak if my intellectual needs are not met? These low-rent video huts wouldn't know Robert Redford from Bob Guccione!"

"Hey! Look what I found!"

Damien rushes to his side, and is similarly surprised.

"Tarkovsky? In a place like this? Ha! No doubt some simpleton mistook it for the version with George Clooney!" Even the most oblivious clerk would notice the disdain in Damien's voice as he intones those last two words. This particular clerk must have paid little mind, as he processes their rental with no incident.

Later, they are in a hotel bed, in a rather nice room. Damien has set up his own personal DVD player, and is fiddling with the menus.

"Oh, you're just gonna love this one. A triumph of filmmaking. Not my favorite of his, but they can't all be Andrei Rublev. You ready?"

"Sure am." Cody has poured two glasses of champagne, and the two settle into bed, Cody resting his head on Damien's arm. They enjoy each other's embrace as the film goes on, and Damien gradually falls asleep. Cody stays awake throughout the film, perplexed but rapt. As the end credits roll, he eases the remote from Damien's grasp and turns the TV off. Finally, he gives Damien a soft kiss on the cheek and rests.


End file.
